


come a little closer

by bazooka



Category: GOT7, Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Homelessness, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life, Small Towns, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazooka/pseuds/bazooka
Summary: "Shotgun it," Nayeon repeats, kicking her legs cutely and squishing up her face like a little kid throwing a tantrum. "You know you wanna."Jackson looks at Jooheon. Jooheon looks at Jackson. They're both stoned and a little drunk and there's a few too many people in Jooheon's cramped apartment, making the whole place hotter than usual by several degrees.“No homo?" Jooheon hazards, grinning as sincerely as he can."What?" Jackson laughs. "Nah, dude. Super homo."





	come a little closer

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song of the same name, by cage the elephant

Everybody calls them game nights even though hardly anybody plays any games anymore. Sometimes somebody will bring out cards against humanity or demand a few rounds of werewolf or... really just those two, come to think of it. Mostly people talk and drink and smoke. Right now Jooheon's on the back deck, legs hanging over the edge as he leans back and stares absently up at the stars.

A door opens and then closes again immediately afterward, the din of a raucous youtube party spilling out into the night air before quickly being muffled again. There's the sound of footsteps on the wooden slats of the deck but Jooheon doesn't pay much attention. He's busy, blunt in one hand and lighter in the other, about a half gram down and sinking further fast - so he's busy, but also he just doesn't care.

A grunt and then someone's fumbling to sit down next to him, landing hard. "Hi," says Someone. "I'm Jackson. Are you partaking of the herb?"

Someone named Jackson pronounces herb with more _h_ than Jooheon usually hears. Hurb. Is he, though? Is he partaking of the hurb? Jooheon considers this for a while, vision blurring and swaying as he thinks. "Yes," he says, awkwardly shoving his blunt in his new neighbor's direction. "You wanna?"

"Hell yeah, man." He looks like an anime character when Jooheon finally actually gets a look at him, a perfect triangular smile and bleach blond hair, slicked back and spiky, and there's a second where Jooheon honestly isn't sure how to process the sight of a shounen manga lead expertly taking a long thick drag off of the blunt. "Good stuff," Jackson croaks out, eyes beginning to water as smoke billows out with his words. “Smooth.”

"I got some water," Jooheon says. The bottle sloshes in his hand as he passes it over. "Just don't weed backwash."

Jackson chokes a little, finally allowing the smoke out of his lungs. "That's gross."

"Yeah, it would be. So don't do it."

"Some guy from church invited me but I don't know anybody," Jackson says a few minutes later, thirst quenched and pink cheeks fading. "Wanna be friends?"

There's a brief, fleeting moment in which Jooheon could swear he's staring down the pathway of his life, into the unknowable vacuum of the future, trying to figure out which direction to go - but then the moment's over and he's saying, "I'm Jooheon. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Jackson says. His eyes are bloodshot now, his smile just a little bit less pulled together. "I bet we're gonna be best friends."

 

 

Jackson is a prophet and he takes every opportunity to remind Jooheon of this fact. "I told you," he'll say sometimes, dancing around and laughing and punching Jooheon playfully in the arm. "I told you we were gonna be best friends."

"Fuck - stop it," Jooheon will say back, wriggling away, "this is live pvp!"

Jackson ends up with a reputation for getting around, but weirdly it isn't actually a bad thing. Everybody knows him, half of them have made out with him in a closet or a backseat, somehow nobody's jealous and everyone just thinks he's great. For being best friends Jooheon sure doesn't feel like anything about him is special enough to be Jackson’s best friend. He feels like he doesn't know Jackson at all. ("You really get me, man," Jackson will say, Jooheon smiling and nodding and wondering if that was ever actually going to be true.)

They've been friends for months, Jackson coming over a couple evenings a week to play video games or watch movies, both of them showing up at the same game nights and teaming up to clobber their opponents in a riotous game of what Lisa had dubbed Ultimate Ping Pong weeks ago - they've been friends for months before Jackson mentions offhand that he's been crashing at his church.

Jooheon hits pause on the game, ignoring Jackson's startled bark of complaint. "What do you mean at your church?"

"I mean that my church is a building," Jackson says slowly, gesturing condescendingly with his hands. (Jooheon wonders if it's the alcohol that makes the choppy swing of Jackson's barely-there Hong Kong accent so unbelievably warm, so unbelievably comforting.) "And at night when it gets dark and cold I go into the building and sleep there."

"Isn't it locked?"

"The good Lord has seen fit to smile upon his faithful servant," Jackson says, pressing one sincere palm to his chest. "There's a super obvious spare key under the mat around the back, next to the kitchen. We're right in the middle of this round, come on man—"

Jooheon shakes Jackson's hand off his arm. "Aren't you worried you'll get caught? Don't you - I mean - don't you have somewhere else?" He doesn't add _to sleep_ because that's something you say to people you pity, and Jooheon doesn't want to pity Jackson.

"Sometimes I crash with other people," Jackson responds casually, tipping back against the couch.

Jooheon looks at him but Jackson doesn't look back. He knows about Jackson, about how they show up to parties together but at the end of the night Jackson’s vanished into somebody else’s personal space and Jooheon never wants to know whose space it is, or what they’re doing, so he just goes home. The mornings after those nights Jackson always shows up at his front door at seven in the morning looking bright eyed and well slept and a little bit ruffled and demands they go out for breakfast.

Jooheon's lived here his whole life but it's taken a transplant from god knows where to show him what makes everything worth it. There's an ancient greasy spoon down the highway a couple miles, the kind with a sun bleached plastic sign for coca cola that’s either retro styled or actually from the 50’s and a jukebox in the corner that's been broken since Jooheon’s dad was a kid, and they make the best hashbrowns in the knowable universe.

"Nayeon said that they have the best hashbrowns in the knowable universe," Jackson had said, vibrating with excitement and crowding Jooheon a little as he struggled to lock his front door while barely half awake. "And I have it on good authority that they make a mean poached egg."

Jooheon had laughed and punched him playfully in the side, (Jackson grabbing his ribs dramatically, falling against the wall and letting out a tragic death rattle), and then they'd gone a few miles down the highway together so that Jackson could order the best hashbrowns in the knowable universe and one poached egg. “You weren’t lying,” Jackson had said, mouth full and tears of joy sparkling in his eyes. “This poached egg is truly cruel.”

So yeah, Jooheon knows about Jackson. He knows exactly the amount about Jackson that Jackson has decided he should know.

Right now Jackson has just decided that part of what Jooheon needs to know is that he sleeps at his church, apparently. Would’ve been nice if he’d come to that conclusion a little earlier. "Who's 'other people?'"

"Just people," Jackson says.

"You could crash here sometimes." Jooheon speaks like he doesn't care when actually he's not sure if he's ever cared about anything more than this. "I mean - dude, are you being serious? We're best friends. If you need somewhere to sleep where you won't get escorted out by security just, like, come by here."

"I don't wanna bug you," Jackson says.

"It bugs me a lot more knowing that you've been sleeping in a church for months when you coulda been like sleeping on my couch and losing video games against me and, like—" Jooheon says _like_ too much when he doesn't know what to say. "—whatever," he finishes. It feels stupid. He feels stupid.

Jackson seems to hesitate. Laughs a little. "What about tonight?"

"Shut up," Jooheon says. "Like you weren't gonna get drunk and pass out to begin with."

"It's not my fault that drunk Portal runs are the best experience of a lifetime."

"How are you so good at it when you're drunk and so bad at it when you're sober?"

Jackson holds up a hand and waits until Jooheon is suitably silent. "Because," he says finally, two fingers holding Jooheon's lips together like a wax seal. "I don't know. It doesn't matter." It just takes Jackson a little bit to tip forward and lay a loud, exaggerated kiss over his own fingernails. "Unpause the game and get your feet off my bed."

"Did you just kiss me?"

Jackson flutters his eyelashes in the worst attempt at coyness Jooheon's ever seen. "If you want," he says.

“Oh,” Jooheon says.

“Cool,” Jooheon says.

“Let’s play,” Jooheon says.

Jooheon doesn’t pursue the topic further, but his game is off for the rest of the night.

 

 

Sometimes Jackson will fall asleep on Jooheon's couch in the night and then be gone by the time Jooheon stumbles out of his room. Most of the time. (Almost all of the time.) When he's still there it's usually because he's hungover, or so exhausted that he slept past even his own obnoxiously accurate internal clock. Either way he's vulnerable and whiny and drowsy, and for some reason Jooheon likes seeing that side of Jackson most of all.

It's Saturday morning and they'd gotten back to his apartment last night by apparently magical means, (when Jooheon peels off his sticky two-day-old shirt he catches the scent of something that smells like a candy necklace and he knows exactly how they got home; god bless that unseelie bitch), Jooheon's head pounding and palms sticky and mouth roughly the flavor and texture of a carpet which has hosted the litter box of a particularly incontinent cat for years.

It isn't very nice.

The bathroom lights are too bright but he manages not to throw up. The hand soap, rather than being a light refreshing bouquet, smells like an elephant ate an entire field of lavender and then shit it all out. Jooheon catches sight of himself in the mirror and decides that maybe for right now he's going to pretend he doesn't even have a corporeal form.

"Head hurts," Jackson moans from the sofa, voice muffled, face buried deep on one of Jooheon's couch cushions. "Brain inflamed. Skull too small."

"Try out not having a skull," Jooheon croaks, shuffling into the flickering fluorescent light of his kitchen. "If you just leave your body you don't have to worry about it hurting. Ah, fuck, I gotta replace these lights—"

"You've been hanging out with Namjoon too much."

" _I've_ been hanging out with Namjoon too much?" Jooheon blinks over at his best friend, eyelashes sticking together. "You've crashed at his place like three times just this week."

"Yeah, I guess." Jackson lets out an enormous sigh as he rolls over, eyes still puffy. "We don't like _hang out_ , though. Not a lot of talking happens."

 

 

 _Aha_ , Jooheon realizes later, halfway through shampooing his hair. _Jackson and Namjoon have sex._

There's a few seconds where he feverishly tries to figure out what he thinks about all this but then shampoo gets in his eye and suddenly other things are a lot more important.

 

 

It’s been a little over a year since Jooheon met Jackson, which doesn’t occur to him at all until one arbitrary Saturday night when he looks over and sees Jackson across the room. He's been living almost full time at Jooheon's place (Jooheon’s started thinking of it as their place) and sometimes people quietly ask him if it's getting annoying. Jooheon just laughs and says no and wonders where the hell they got that idea. He and Jackson are best friends.

It’s a pretty small group but there still isn't quite enough space for everybody to sit comfortably in Jooheon’s apartment. Most people are chilling on the floor. Somebody managed to find some folding chairs. Jooheon has his dad’s old armchair, overstuffed and molded perfectly to the shape of an ass, and Nayeon’s sitting in it, presiding benevolently over her unseelie court as usual.

Four people are crammed onto the three person couch, Jooheon on one end with Jackson squeezed between him and Minhyuk, Hyunwoo at the opposite end taking up enough space for two people all by himself.

"Do you think he'd even blink if I called him dad?" Jackson's breath whispers over Jooheon's cheek, voice so quiet it's nearly silent. "He just looks like a dad sort of guy to me."

"I don't think he would," Jooheon says back, grinning more than he should as he adjusts things until Jackson's legs are slung over his lap rather than stuck between too many knees. Jackson shivers a little and Jooheon pulls him just a little bit closer on instinct. "But don't."

"You scared?"

"Tired," Jooheon says. "Too tired for the fallout of my best friend calling Minhyuk's boyfriend 'dad.'"

“What, is Minhyuk really that jealous?”

“Nah, but he might get too excited and ask you if you’re up for a threesome.”

“What’s so wrong about that?”

“He’ll definitely mean ‘right now’ and, like, no offense, but I’d rather not get three guys’ cum all over my sheets. Especially if I’m not involved.”

Jackson laughs, leaning in and burying his head in Jooheon’s shoulder as he shakes. "Yeah," he says, breathless and still giggling a little. "Good point. Light me up?"

A few hits later, a few record changes, (somebody keeps putting on Sufjan Stevens’ _Songs for Christmas_ ; before tonight Jooheon hadn’t even known he owned that one), and people are starting to leave one by one. Minhyuk and Hyunwoo disappear into the night (Minhyuk clinging to his beefcake boyfriend like a drunk koala) and Jackson goes off somewhere, probably to the kitchen if the chant of _shots shots shots_ are anything to go by, so Jooheon takes the opportunity to doze off on the couch.

It's the kind of sleep where instead of actually dreaming you're just dreamily aware of everything going on around you. People talk and you hear their voices like they're mumbling through pipes, like the _gloing gloing_ noise when you sink low enough in the bath that your ears are underwater. Things move around you, flexing and curving, and everything looks practically psychedelic.

"Hey," Jackson's voice says, shouting from the top of a well with Jooheon miles and miles below. It echoes and shakes but Jooheon can't say he doesn't like it. He sounds like the gentle sway of his great-grandma’s water bed. "You're gonna be fucked up tomorrow if you don't drink any water."

"I'll be fucked up tomorrow regardless," Jooheon says back, but he sits up anyway, taking the glass from Jackson's hand. "Yo, did we finish off what was left in your pipe?"

Jackson bends over, picking up his Locally Sourced Novelty Glass Art Piece off the floor. (Jooheon had accompanied him to the pot shop to buy it and they'd still had all the signage calling their wares 'art' from back before legalization. Jackson insisted from then on that he was a curator of fine art.) "Nah, there's a tiny bit left. You wanna share it?"

"Shotgun it," Nayeon shouts at them from across the living room. She looks a little bit cross-eyed and a lot bit pouty but mostly she just looks pleasantly wicked like she always does. "Grow some balls, Wang."

"He's already got balls," Jooheon says, at the same time as Jackson says, "you can't tell me what to do."

"Shotgun it," Nayeon repeats, kicking her legs cutely and squishing up her face like a little kid throwing a tantrum. "You know you wanna."

Jackson looks at Jooheon. Jooheon looks at Jackson. They're both stoned and a little drunk and there's a few too many people in Jooheon's cramped apartment, making the whole place hotter than usual by several degrees.

“No homo?" Jooheon hazards, grinning as sincerely as he can.

"What?" Jackson laughs. "Nah, dude. Super homo."

Jooheon doesn't have the time or the mental capacity to say _huh?_ before Jackson is lighting up, pulling the smoke, filling his lungs. "They're gonna do it," he hears Nayeon say, probably to Jennie.

It doesn't start with Jackson against him, mouth open and waiting. It starts with Jackson's hand trailing up Jooheon's chest, the calluses on his fingertips catching on the thin cotton threads of Jooheon's ancient and overwashed Nirvana t-shirt. He can’t admit it to himself, the way his breath hitches in his chest when Jackson's hand slides over the back of his neck and _pulls_ —

Jackson's eyes are open but sleepy, distracted, a little glazed over as he moves in close, and Jooheon closes his own because he can't do it, he can't look his best friend in the eye when their lips meet.

He can't place the song that's playing. He hasn't cared enough to track who's got the aux cord. Jackson's mouth finds his own and whatever song it is it doesn't matter because the drums kick in for the break at the same time as Jackson cautiously brushes against his lips.

Jackson kisses Jooheon - no, exhales pot smoke into Jooheon's mouth - and the drums in the music only barely beat harder than Jooheon's traitorous heart.

There's no big realization. (Part of him feels cheated.) There's just Jooheon leaning up into Jackson's kiss, breathing it in like smoke. They've been friends for a little over a year and it occurs to Jooheon that they could have been kissing each other this whole time.

"That was cruel and unusual," Jennie's saying somewhere. Nayeon's laughing. Jooheon's eyes are still closed and Jackson's mouth is gone, cold air replacing Jackson's hand on the back of Jooheon's neck.

When he blinks his eyes open Jackson's giving him a weirdly owlish look.

Jooheon stops holding his breath, letting the smoke slip out of his lungs and into the already hazy air, and then reaches out and boops Jackson's noise. "You look like Naruto," he says. The THC is hitting him hard. "Couple months. Halloween. Think about it."

"I'll think about it," Jackson says, sitting back a little and laughing. He doesn't look Jooheon in the eye.

 

 

“Dude,” Jackson says the next morning, around a mouthful of chocolate chip eggo. “We totally shotgunned that hit, man. _Classic_. Nayeon’s never gonna let that go.”

“We should learn how to do smoke rings and shit,” Jooheon says back. His forehead’s pressed to the cold plastic table top, arms stretched out in front of him, a cup of quickly cooling coffee in his hands. “Like you could do a smoke ring and I could, like, send smoke through the ring.”

“It’s like those heart necklaces, like best friends forever, but instead it’s our signature best friend smoke trick.”

“Hey,” Jooheon says. “Do you wanna just, like, move in?”

Jackson makes a weird noise in the back of his nose. Jooheon rolls his head over to look at him, only to see Jackson’s cheeks bulging with mass-produced waffle. “Don’t choke,” Jooheon says. “It would suck if you died.”

Jackson shrugs, lifting his palms upward in the universal sign for _who, me?_

 

 

It doesn’t really get brought up again but a couple days later Jooheon’s washing his hands in the bathroom and Jackson’s bright red Cars 2 toothbrush is next to his in the toothbrush holder instead of tucked away on the counter in its little case, ready to be grabbed and transported to the next location.

In a way it was like Jackson’s toothbrush was a microcosm, a little look into Jackson’s psyche that Jooheon never usually got. Jackson had been temporary before, but now his toothbrush is out, unpacked, tucked into Jooheon’s toothbrush holder like it belongs there.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he forgets all about Jackson’s toothbrush.

 

 

It's some Wednesday morning and they're at the diner again, five of them, Jackson and Jooheon and Nayeon and Minhyuk and Hyunwoo, all spread out in a huge corner booth tucked away around the corner from the host stand. Sunlight beams in through the streaky glass and Jooheon is peering through the glare to pore over the laminated menu even though he's been coming here for breakfast since back when his dad was still around and hasn’t changed his order even once.

"Hashbrowns," Jackson is saying, bending around him and talking animatedly with Minhyuk. "Dude, you've had them here, right?"

"Everybody in town's had the hashbrowns here," Nayeon pipes up, distractedly tapping her spoon on the formica table top as she stares distantly over one shoulder. "You're just still excited by them because you're a newbie."

"He's been here for over a year," Jooheon says, but it's the same time as Jackson wobbles his head in a gesture of concession and says, "that's fair."

"Still good, though." Nayeon sets her spoon down quickly. It clinks loudly on the table, rolling a little with the momentum, and she has to scramble a little to quiet it. "I wanna eat. Where's the waitress?"

"Same place she's been since you started watching her over your shoulder," Minhyuk says, sipping his orange juice delicately as he rests his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. "When are you gonna nut up and ask her out?"

"I don't think most lesbians can nut up," Hyunwoo says mildly, and Minhyuk immediately flushes a deep, flustered pink.

"Y’know I never really figured out what nutting up actually means," Jooheon says.

"Sounds painful," Jackson says, nodding along. "Like, I mean, how _up_ are we talking here?"

"It's a turn of phrase," Minhyuk mumbles into his orange juice shamefacedly. Hyunwoo tugs him in a little bit closer. It'd be cute if Jooheon wasn't a little bit hung over and slightly nauseated, but as it is it's just gross and Jooheon doesn't like it.

"You two are disgusting," Nayeon says fondly, voicing the thoughts of everyone at the table. "Stop being gross for three seconds and let me know if you're ready to order, I'm hungry."

"You're _thirsty_ ," Jooheon counters.

"Like a wanderer in the desert," Nayeon retorts. "Ew, what are you doing?"

"Minhyuk's hand has been creeping its way up Hyunwoo's thigh for about five minutes now," Jackson announces, "and now they appear to be making out." He nudges Jooheon in the ribs, shoots him a lecherous grin and some impressively dexterous eyebrow action. "That could be us but you playin'."

"We're the cutest couple in the tri-state area," Minhyuk says, separating from his boyfriend just a little bit more noisily than was strictly comfortable for innocent standers-by. "Nobody can top us. You're all just jealous."

"Is this the tri-state area?" Jackson asks, turning curiously toward Nayeon.

"No," Nayeon says, pointing at Minhyuk, then says, "no," again, pointing at Jackson. "You two? The cutest couple?" When she rolls her eyes Jooheon can see that funny quirk at the corner of her naturally downturned mouth. "Where's your proof?"

"You just saw it," Minhyuk says. Hyunwoo grins down at him, looking a little bit stupid with affection. It's like he's not even really listening, he's just enjoying how Minhyuk looks when he's whining. (Jooheon decides to stop that train of thought at the station.) "Look, the waitress is here, don't you think we should—"

"Yoonji," Nayeon's already saying, her voice all honey and musk and creeping vines. "We would love to order food from your fine establishment, and we will—"

"I want hashbrowns," Jackson says.

"Minhyuk wants sausage," Jooheon says, and gets a kick to the ankle for his trouble.

"—but first I gotta ask if you'd be the judge of a little competition."

Yoonji is gangly, stands like a doll with her feet a little turned in and knees far apart, her mouth small and pink and set into a permanent pout. She's a newcomer like Jackson, but instead of a year she's been around for five and people still call her the new girl. Nayeon, meanwhile, has been thirsting in anguish from the corner booth for all five of those years. "A what?" Yoonji says, and the roughness of her voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere other than the cigarettes she smokes too many of.

"A what?" Hyunwoo echoes. _A what?_ say the eyes of everyone else at the table.

"A competition," Nayeon repeats. "Tell me if you think they're dating. You two," she says, gesturing across the table at Hyunwoo and Minhyuk, sitting not side-by-side so much as overlapped, "kiss."

"Uh," Yoonji says, but Hyunwoo and Minhyuk don't need to be asked twice to kiss each other, (quite the contrary; it’s usually hard to get them to stop), so it's just happening, right there in the corner booth, Yoonji The New Girl standing transfixed with a pitcher of hot coffee in one hand and her pencil and notepad in the other, Minhyuk and Hyunwoo with their tongues down each other’s throats.

Minhyuk and Hyunwoo fall apart, finally, with prompting. "So?" Nayeon says, pouting a little as she looks up at Yoonji through her thick, dark, succubus eyelashes. "Do you think they're dating?"

"They're in here all the time," Yoonji says. “Usually with you.” Her voice isn't quite as rough as it had been before. She just sounds a little bit annoyed instead of totally annoyed. “I sure hope they're dating, seeing how much they slobber on each other. Is there a trick for getting them to stop?"

"Sometimes you just have to hit them with a broom a couple times," Jooheon says. "Like fighting cats."

Jackson turns toward him. Lays a careful hand over his own. Says, "Jooheon... I lied to you. Those cats weren't fighting."

"Jackson, stop."

"What were they doing?" Hyunwoo's leaning forward, expression looking a little bit concerned.

Brief silence.

"They were just yowling a lot," Jooheon says. Jackson nods, maybe a little bit faster than he strictly needs to. "Jackson told me they were fighting."

"I was wrong," Jackson says.

"So anyway now you two kiss," Nayeon says, rounding on them. "It's not a competition with only one competing team."

Jackson laughs, which makes Jooheon laugh, which makes Jackson laugh even more, and at some point Jackson cradles his jaw in both hands and Jooheon's laughter catches in his chest and then Jackson murmurs, "let's show 'em up," and does.

Shotgunning that hit a few months back hadn't been a kiss. (He'd known that it wasn't, it wasn't a kiss, there's no way it could have actually been a kiss. It didn't matter how much his pulse had jumped because it hadn't been a kiss.) Jooheon has been kissed before, a lot, and that shotgunned hit hadn't even been close to a kiss.

This is a kiss.

It lasts for a lot less time that it feels like it should, but there's a few seconds where the tip of Jackson's pretty pink tongue is tracing the sensitive palate just behind Jooheon's front teeth and they share the taste of burnt diner coffee assembled with different creamers - Jooheon’s hazelnut and Jackson’s irish cream - and Jooheon hopes that the involuntary whine of complaint he makes in the back of his throat when Jackson finally pulls away too soon isn't loud enough for anyone to hear him.

"Dating," he can hear Yoonji saying, voice cocksure and confident. "Definitely dating."

"Well?" Nayeon turns toward them. "Is she right?"

Jooheon is still reeling even though there's no reason for him to be. It registers after half a second that everyone is looking at them expectantly. They're expecting something, an answer, because they actually don't know.

He says, "what?" before he finally blinks his eyes clear and amends it to, "no."

Jackson slings one arm companionably over his shoulders. "He's the love of my life. We're soulmates. Bonded partners. Star-crossed - ow, Jooheon - ow, seriously, don't—!"

"Looks like you've got one wrong and one right," Nayeon says, tching and shaking her head in an expression of disappointment. (Yoonji is still looking at him, Jooheon is pretty sure. He's too chicken to double check.) "I guess we'll just have to go with a tie-breaker."

Minhyuk is already laughing, delighted, before Nayeon has even started to stand up out of the booth. "Yoonji," she says, holding out a hand. (Yoonji just looks at it. A voice in the back of Jooheon's head says _girl, same._ ) "Now you and I kiss and then you tell me if we're dating."

The sound of Minhyuk shrieking, “you _planned_ this!” is the background music to Nayeon’s clever swoop in to plant a sweet, close-mouthed kiss against Yoonji’s lips. Jackson is cackling, laughing so hard he's turning red and curling in on himself like a boiled shrimp, and when he gets like this it's so damn infectious that Jooheon joins him, howling with laughter. It’s a cacophonous melody with percussion in the form of a dropped and shattered pitcher of burnt diner coffee, played by featured artist Yoonji, New Girl.

 

 

Nayeon gets Yoonji’s number and walks around with heart eyes for the next week.

 

 

A secret of which Jooheon is not proud: he's been dreaming about kissing Jackson ever since that fateful day at the diner with the competition and Yoonji and the way Jackson licked into his mouth with a velvet tongue laced with irish cream.

He walks around feeling like it's written in bright green neon over his head, the animation of Jackson tipping in towards of him painted in one of those shitty three-frame timed neon lights like a tavern girl doing the cha cha or the profile of a man lifting a bottle of beer to his mouth over and over and over. The sign says This Guy Falls Asleep Every Night And Dreams About Kissing His Best Friend. Creepy, Right?

It starts out as just a dream, a single nighttime excursion, isolated and meaningless. Kind of meaningless. Not really that meaningless, because on the first morning Jooheon jolts awake like he's been electrocuted, barely an inch away from Jackson's lips only moments before.

At first he brushes it off as nothing, as his burned out brain trying to process events in a stupid and circuitous sort of way, but then he has the dream again. And again. And again.

It’s been a month now and Jooheon's tried to just accept this as his new normal. After the first week dreaming about sucking his best friend's life force out through his mouth Jooheon slowly works back up to looking Jackson in the eye again - or at least not looking directly at his mouth for entire conversations. Whichever. Right now he's not particularly picky.

Jackson brings it up once, which is when Jooheon knows for sure that it's obvious. Jackson doesn't really bring up anything. Jackson works best when he's gently pulling someone else out of their shell, but his own is locked up tight - nobody notices because everybody's too self-absorbed and flattered.

Jooheon notices.

It's four weeks since they kissed over coffee at the diner just down the highway and Jackson says, "Hey man, are we cool?"

"Are we cool?" Jooheon's lying on their living room floor in front of a fan, sweating quietly and suffering loudly. "No. Nothing is cool. Nothing has ever been cool. Nothing will ever be cool again."

"You've been a little weird," Jackson continues, undeterred. "Since the other day. Just making sure we're cool."

"Jackson," Jooheon says. He closes his eyes. "You're my best friend."

"... You're my best friend too?"

"You're my best friend," Jooheon repeats. "Go get me a popsicle."

Jackson laughs at him and kicks the bottoms of his feet and calls him an asshole but brings him a popsicle anyway. Jooheon's is cherry limeade and Jackson's is some mix of raspberry and ice cream that mostly just looks like a swirling, alluring pink. Jackson sits on the couch, splayed out so that none of his skin touches any other parts of skin, and sucks on his popsicle with tiny appreciative noises and cold-pink lips and sweat trickling slowly down his face.

It's not until Jackson makes eye contact with Jooheon that he realizes he's staring. Jackson licks a drop of melted ice cream that had slipped down the column of the popsicle and looks Jooheon right in the eyes as he does it. "You okay?" he asks.

"Fine," Jooheon says. He crams his popsicle in his mouth and tries his damndest not to watch Jackson consume his. It’s not Jooheon’s fault that Jackson likes to deepthroat his popsicles like a goddamn porn star.

He goes to bed early that night, claiming heat fatigue, and lies on his back in the heavy height of a thick summer with an ice pack in his arms trying not to masturbate while thinking about the way his best friend enjoys an innocent summertime treat.

It takes about fourteen minutes before the last shreds of his self control finally dissipate and his hand slips under the elastic of his pajama bottoms of its own accord.

 

 

It should be illegal, Jooheon thinks to himself, to call your single friends for relationship advice.

Nayeon had called him a couple of times out of the blue since getting Yoonji's number. The first time had been a panic call and he'd just been the first person to pick up. ( _You have to help me_ , she'd hissed through the phone, breath roaring through the mic, _Yoonji said she didn't think she could make it to the thing by the lake but she's_ here _and I look like a_ hot mess _and I can't just_ leave _Jooheon! What do I do!_ ) The second time had been the kind of check-in call he really hated to get. ( _Yoonji said I didn't look like a hot mess at all when she took off my - Jooheon wait don't hang—_ )

Now it's the third time and it's almost midnight and Jooheon is sitting against the headboard of his bed, web browser on his laptop definitely not open to any kind of porn, staring at Nayeon's little fey grin on his caller id thinking hard about maybe not picking up at all. He knows it's about Yoonji and he doesn't want to hear it, but then again it's probably gossip and so he really, really does.

"It's almost midnight," he says into the mic, trying to sound disinterested.

"You're gay, right?"

"What?"

"Like you touch dicks," Nayeon stutters, her voice a little high-pitched and thin, rattling a little as she breathes. "You know how to, like... dicks? You know how to touch dicks?"

"Are you high?"

"I wish," Nayeon whines quietly. It'd almost be cute if Jooheon didn't know what she's capable of. "Jooheon, Yoonji has a dick. Yoonji's got an actual dick. We’re watching a movie at her place and things got kinda handsy, y'know how it is—"

"Oh my god, _don't_." Jooheon squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose and wills himself not to be interested in what Nayeon's about to say. "I don't need to know that much detail. What do you mean she's got a dick?"

"I mean when things got kinda handsy I definitely felt a goddamn cock, Jooheon," Nayeon says.

"Oh."

"So you understand my problem, then?"

“Where are you?” A sound like a toilet flushing comes through the phone. “Oh my god. Nayeon, you’re still there, aren’t you. Please tell me you weren’t taking a shit while talking to me.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” The tap turns on and Jooheon has the sinking feeling that perhaps yes, Nayeon had in fact been taking care of business while speaking with him. “The movie’s paused and, like - Jooheon, I don’t know what to do.”

"She's still Yoonji," Jooheon says. "You've been kinda in love with her for god knows how long and it's not like a penis is gonna change all that. I mean like, just—"

"Oh my god," Nayeon snaps. "That is _not_ my problem. I'm a gold star lesbian, the only penis I've ever seen belongs to my nephew and that's because I changed his diapers sometimes under duress.”

“Why are you calling me instead of Krystal or somebody?”

A gagging noise. “You want me to call the straights? Have we _met_? I’ve already heard way too fuckin’ much about Nini’s dick and I don’t want to sign up for any more, so... y’know, as a fellow gay I hoped maybe you could, like, gimme a few pointers—"

"I'm not gay," Jooheon says. Each individual moment of this conversation had been stunning in its own right and he only now remembers her words from before. "Why do you think I'm gay?"

"Don't think that nobody knows," comes Nayeon's voice. The words rattle in his head. "Are you going to give me advice or not?"

"Here's a pro tip for you," Jooheon says. "Ask _her_ what she wants." He's tired and his eyelids are heavy and he wonders if Jackson is still up. "And I'm not gay."

"What are you then?"

"Not... I'm not that," Jooheon says after a second. "Go apologize to your girlfriend for panicking and then jack her off to show you mean it. Good night, Nayeon. Please stop calling me at midnight with penis problems."

She's squawking in protest when he hangs up.

Jooheon wonders if Jackson is still up and stares at his bedroom door for a while, trying to decide whether or not to get up and check. What good would it do? What would he say?

The words _don't think that nobody knows_ run through his head, and they’re in Nayeon's voice. Jooheon decides it's time to go to sleep.

 

 

It’s October and somehow Nayeon and Yoonji have usurped Minhyuk and Hyunwoo as the resident most disgusting couple, cementing their status as the domestics by hosting the annual Halloween party at Nayeon’s uncle’s farm out in the boonies. It’s not fancy, but they won’t get rained on. When Jooheon shows up almost embarrassingly early Yoonji is already tending coals in a giant barbecue, Nayeon hanging off of her like a leech.

They don’t see him for a minute, but he can see them. The way Nayeon’s hand slips along the curve of Yoonji’s waist, fingers tightening just briefly in the fabric of her jacket. The way Yoonji laughs a little, too quiet for him to hear over this distance, laughs a little and tips over to brush her lips along the shell of Nayeon’s ear, mouth moving with a hushed and affectionate secret just for them. The way they lean into each other, the way they fold gently to accommodate each other, the way they’re so obviously pleased and content all wrapped up in one another’s personal space bubbles.

He steps on a stick, dead and brittle, and the resulting sound brings both of their heads around. “Lee,” Nayeon calls over to him, “where the fuck is your costume?”

“Is Jackson here yet?” he asks, shouldering out of his coat. It’s spattered with raindrops but by the looks of the sky he’d already missed the worst of it.

“I asked you a question,” Nayeon says, cocking her hip and crossing her arms authoritatively over her chest. Yoonji snorts. Nayeon pouts.

“Jackson’s my costume,” Jooheon says, and then nods down at the barbecue with its coals just starting to burn low deep red. “I see Nayeon’s not allowed to touch anything fire related. I think all of us owe you a beer for that one.”

Nayeon squawks out a wordless complaint but Yoonji just shrugs and smiles. “I know. She’s horrible.” (Jooheon’s expecting a fight, not for Nayeon to blush, not for Yoonji to laugh at her, not for Nayeon to whine and bap weakly at Yoonji’s shoulder like an embarrassed kitten and mewl, “I’m not!”) "If you don't want me to talk about how horrible you are then stop being such a bad girl," Yoonji adds on, voice mild. (This time Jooheon is expecting the blush. Hmm.)

"So what are your costumes?" asks Jooheon, the words tumbling out of his mouth, rattling like marbles spilled from a bowl. "I was thinking, like... actually I don't know. Batgirl?"

"Batwoman," Yoonji says, tossing a lock of her fire engine red wig back over her shoulder. She pouts when she talks and Jooheon can understand what Nayeon sees in her. "Nayeon's the Question."

Nayeon turns to him. "They're lesbians," she says matter-of-factly.

"Kate Kane and Renee Montoya?" Jooheon feigns a gasp of surprise. "That's old news, kiddo. You look good in a suit."

"Doesn't she?" Yoonji says. "And Jackson said he was gonna get a ride with Namjoon, so they'll be here eventually."

"Oh," Jooheon says.

"Cool," Jooheon says.

"I'm gonna go put my beer in the coolers," Jooheon says, pulling his beanie off to scrape his hair back before pulling it back down over the tips of his ears. "Shout if you see Jackson before I do."

He never hears Yoonji shout, or Nayeon. Over the course of the evening there's a lot of shouting going on, a lot of yelling, somebody puts on Monster Mash and everybody hates it and there's a huge fight over the aux cord that lasts long after Monster Mash runs down and the next track begins. (Jooheon sits back in a folding chair, watching the commotion, and calmly stops casting Monster Mash to Nayeon's wireless speakers when it's time to let the next song queue up.)

The sky had been gray when he'd arrived but there were patches of light scattered across the clouds, the sun shining through, but it's pitch black by the time Jooheon spots Namjoon's bright violet dyed hair predictably poking up above the crowd near the food. Nobody had shouted.

"Hey," Jooheon says, shouting a little to be heard over the noise. "H-hey, Namjoon, um—"

Namjoon doesn't hear him and Jooheon isn't sure how he feels about it as he stands there surrounded by drunken idiots in half-ruined costumes and watches Namjoon Kim put an arm around Jackson's shoulders and pulls him in close to - to kiss him? Namjoon pulls away and over his shoulder Jooheon can see the look on his best friend's face and he doesn't like it at all.

"You can't keep being like this," he hears Namjoon saying. (He sees Jackson flinch almost imperceptibly, which means it's real. If he flinches obviously he's just hamming it up, but if he flinches like he's trying he's damndest not to then Jooheon, historically, gets really fucking pissed off at whoever made him flinch in the first place.) "You have to make up your—"

"Hey Namjoon," Jooheon says, clapping a hand on his shoulder and spinning him around, "I'm pretty sure he can do whatever the fuck he wants."

Then Jooheon punches him, which he knows is a bad idea the second he cocks his arm back, but the momentum's got him in its clutches and there's really no getting out of there being a fist meets face sort of situation. His hand hurts now, for one thing.

 

 

It's silent in the back of Jooheon's old navy blue volvo 240 wagon as they sit there, first aid kit open in between them.

It's mostly silent. The rain is back, pummeling the hood and the windshield and the roof of the car with a vehemence bordering on religious. It's loud enough that Jooheon can't hear himself breathe. But he's also holding his breath, so that might be part of it.

"If you don't breathe the lack of oxygen will thin your blood and this'll take forever to scab up," Jackson says, not looking up from where he's dabbing antiseptic on Jooheon's split knuckles. "So breathe and make this less annoying."

Jooheon exhales, inhales, feels guilty. Jackson's brow is furrowed in a mixture of concentration and anger and he doesn't look up as he inspects Jooheon's slightly mangled hand. "And he doesn't even know how to throw a punch," Jackson mutters to himself, curving over even tighter to carefully apply neosporin under the shitty overhead car light.

"That's not true," Jooheon says, finally, after far too many seconds of feverish thought. "No... well, hold on."

This at least gets Jackson to look him in the eye for the first time since his face had gone hard and sharp and he'd dragged Jooheon bodily out of the party. "It is, though. Look at your fuckin' hand, bro."

"About the blood," says Jooheon. He's ignoring it. "That's not true."

"I don’t care." Jackson rifles around for bandaids. "Got you to start breathing again."

Jooheon opens his mouth to talk back but Jackson beats him, looking up to glare at him and say, "what the fuck is wrong with you lately, man? You keep being weird, and - a-and I don't know what's going on, and you just fucking _punched_ Namjoon, like what the fuck—"

"He was telling you what to do," Jooheon interrupts. "You flinched. He made you flinch."

"I didn't _flinch_ ," says Jackson, "I probably just blinked or something, I don't know, are you drunk?"

"Do you have sex with Namjoon?"

In an act of ultimate betrayal the earth does not open up and drag Jooheon down into the deepest pits of hell, instead leaving him in the backseat of his car with bloodied knuckles and his best friend, love of his life (what?), in front of him and he's just (no, go back, love of his life?) he's just, he's just asked a stupid question that he doesn't care about (Jackson isn't the love of his life) and he has to brush it off and laugh it off and (is Jackson the love of his life?) try to save it—

"No," Jackson says. "What?"

"I don't know," Jooheon says, "like I know you crash at his place all the time and I know you, like, like you kind of like to do whatever with whoever—" The love of his life. "—I don't mean that in a bad way, oh my god, I'm - just like ignore me or something—" The love of his life? "—I should go home and not, like, be here anymore—"

"You thought I've been having sex with Namjoon?" Jackson seems dazed by the question. "I mean I can't say I'm not flattered, but... he's married," he says. "You know his husband, bro. Seokjin? They had a party for their fifth anniversary last January. You were there."

"I thought it was a birthday party," Jooheon says after a few excruciatingly embarrassing seconds. "They live together?"

"Dude what—" Jackson sits back on his heels in disbelief. "Yes they live with each other, we met at their house."

"That’s _their_ house? Holy shit. That's a nice fuckin' house."

"Yeah, Namjoon is an astro-something-I-don't-care-enough-about-to-pronounce-correctly and he makes bank. I crash with them a lot because they’ve got a guest room and Seokjin makes waffles sometimes."

"So you don't have sex with him," Jooheon says. Somewhere in his chest something is starting to fold open slowly, cautiously, like a flower in the morning. "What was he telling you? Back there?"

"I need to get you home," says Jackson, fumbling with the first aid kit. "Where are your car keys?"

"You can't drive. What was Namjoon saying to you?"

"He was warning me not to get too drunk like last time." Jackson holds his hand out, palm out. "Gimme the keys."

"You can't drive, Jackson. And I was there," Jooheon says. He tips forward a little, putting his hands on his best friend's knees, forcing himself into Jackson's field of vision. "He wasn't telling you not to get too drunk. He was telling you that you had to make up your mind."

Jackson blows a raspberry, eyes rolling, head lolling back in a full-body interpretation of derision. "Jooheon, c'mon, it's really not that deep, man."

“No,” Jooheon says.

"You flinched," Jooheon says.

Jackson doesn't say anything. He's just sitting there, curled up a little bit funny to sit sideways in the backseat, looking at the first aid kit on the floor and absolutely not at Jooheon's face.

"I think it's about time for me to move on," Jackson says. "It's really rainy here during the winter. I think I might go south? Get a little bit more sunshine."

Jackson, Jooheon realizes, is the love of his life. Jackson says _I think it's about time for me to move on_ and Jooheon's stomach twists and jerks, and— and what is he gonna do? It's a thought process that takes barely more than a second, but it's like Jooheon's brain is on speed or something right now, he's buzzing, he's calm, he's thinking fast.

What does he want? He wants to go to the diner all the time, the one down the highway with the best hashbrowns in the knowable universe, he wants to take Jackson there every goddamn week. He wants to go to sleep at night knowing that Jackson isn't sleeping under a bridge somewhere. He wants to wake up in the morning and go out to the kitchen and make a two-person pot of coffee and when he goes to brush his teeth he wants to see Jackson's toothbrush next to his own.

"But don't, though," Jooheon says, murmurs, breathless and reckless. This time he's the one pushing, leaning down, nudging Jackson's face up. Tipping down to close the distance between them.

For maybe a quarter of a second Jackson freezes and Jooheon is too caught up in the momentum to stop so he panics. His chest tightens up, an apology is already building in his throat, he's just ruined everything—

Jackson parts his lips and invites Jooheon inside.

Rain pounds on the metal roof of the car. On the windshield. On the hood. The windows are all streaked with water, fogged up and hazy, and (god) Jackson moans into Jooheon's mouth. Loops his arms over the back of Jooheon's neck. Both of them taste like beer, (though why Jackson insists on drinking piss-flavored water is beyond him), and it occurs to Jooheon that it's probably a good idea that neither of them had ended up behind the wheel.

He wants to think of this as something he's not prepared for but he's been thinking about kissing Jackson for a really really long time, and during that time he compiled a little mental list of all his favorite fantasies, the things he'd most like to do with Jackson, for Jackson, to Jackson. He wants to catch Jackson's tongue in his mouth, bite his lip, cradle his jaw in both hands and kiss him like he means it because fuck, he means it.

Jackson sits up, pulling him in even closer, groaning against Jooheon's mouth when he shifts his weight. The air in the car is cold and humid but Jooheon's boiling to death in his own skin. He's kissing his best friend, the love of his life, and his best friend is kissing him back. He tastes like gross beer but it's still one of the best things that's happened to him in his life.

Jackson sighs and arches as Jooheon slips hot fingertips under the hem of his sweatshirt to trail over the soft skin of his waist. There's a give to him, the results of marijuana and regular visits to a place famous for its simple carbs and actually living in a house with a roof and walls and baseboard heaters and the knowledge that nobody's going to find and evict him at any moment.

When they'd first met he remembers Jackson feeling hard and taut all the time, no fat to speak of, but they've been living together for months now and Jackson can go through a whole box of pop tarts in a depressingly short period of time and he's got access to protein and Jooheon makes sure he eats at least one vegetable a day. Now he drags his fingertips along the skin and it's soft and warm and gives under gentle pressure like the sweetest invitation.

"Okay?" he whispers, pulling away only just enough to speak. His lips are spit-slick and puffy and he slurs. "Y'okay?"

The only response he gets is Jackson pulling him in again, kissing him again, rolling his hips and then pushing Jooheon back until he's lying on his back on the seat and Jackson's hanging over him, looking half asleep and half stupid and half certain. He doesn’t say anything, just curves down to hike Jooheon's sweater up, splay one hand over Jooheon's sternum to keep him flat on his back, kiss him again and again and again.

They rut against each other like awkward teenagers in somebody's parents' basement, breathing hard, gasping for air, fogging up the windows even more with each moan and hum. Of course is this any better, half drunk in the backseat of an old station wagon parked at a halloween party one of them just ruined? Humping in your parents’ basement is practically innocent. What Jackson is doing between Jooheon’s legs is anything but.

He comes in his underwear like some kind of innocent virgin, hands flexing and clenching on Jackson’s arms as he arches and gasps. There’s been nothing but his hand and the forbidden thought of his best friend’s mouth for the last god knows how long and now just being close to Jackson, kissing him, skin to skin contact, anything - all of that pent up energy releases and he doesn’t get to choose how or when.

Jackson is shaking too as Jooheon comes down from his orgasm. Jooheon can feel the echo of Jackson’s voice in his own chest, the deep hoarse moans, the way he sucks in a breath when he hits just the right angle, half-said words bitten off and swallowed, and it’s only seconds before Jackson is choking through his own orgasm. (He says something in what Jooheon can only assume is Chinese but it’s heavy, in his back teeth, and it sounds like he means it.)

Jackson lays on him for at least twenty seconds but probably closer to a hundred years, breath ragged in his throat, in his chest, trembling a little as the October evening chill creeps back into their notice.

"Fuck," he says, pushing himself upward with shaking arms. His eyes are dark, shadowed under his eyebrows and then even more by the way his bangs hang in his face when they get wet and don't dry perfectly the way he’s somehow always able to pull off.

"Shit," Jackson says, falling back against the door and hitting it hard enough to thump loud with the impact.

"I'm sorry," Jackson says, and he's scrabbling for the handle, and he's pulling it, and he swings the door open, and he lands on his ass in the middle of a massive mud puddle next to the car.

Jooheon's already out, slamming the door on his side of the car and stumbling a little in the dark and the rain and the post-coital brain fog, skidding to a stop in the loose wet gravel to reach down and pull Jackson up and in and doesn't let him go.

"Don't be sorry," Jooheon says, having to yell a little over the crash of rain on the cars around them, the roll of thunder that had been distant fifteen minutes ago and now held court overhead. "Jesus Christ, Jackson, don't be sorry."

"I have to go," says Jackson. He's shaking but he isn't pulling away. He's shaking but he melts a little, wilts, sags in Jooheon's arms almost imperceptibly. "I have to go south, I have to find sunshine, I - I was wrong, I'm sorry - Jooheon, I'm so sorry—"

Maybe it's not the best idea he's ever had - maybe it's the beer, maybe it's the adrenaline rush from punching an innocent man in the jaw, maybe it's that he's still coming down from the ground-shaking high of the orgasm Jackson had given to him - but Jackson is putty in his hands and when he tips up his jaw in one hand there's no resistance. Rain hits his face, catching in his eyelashes and shining on his cheeks like tears, and Jooheon curves in and cradles Jackson's face in both hands and says _to hell with it_ to himself and just up and kisses him again.

It's not much, as far as kisses go. Their lips barely touch but Jackson still sucks in a breath like he's been shocked with static. Jooheon thinks there's lightning but then Jackson is choking out a funny little moan and pulling him in and kissing him, sighing into his mouth, and Jooheon doesn't notice any thunder.

"I like you," Jooheon says. "I really really like you. I'm sorry, I just like you, you don't have to do this, it's okay—"

"Idiot," Jackson says. His hands are fisted in the front of Jooheon's hoodie, pulling him down those last few centimeters to close the distance between them. (Jackson's a little bit shorter than him. He hadn't realized it until this very moment.) "How the fuck?"

"I'm really sorry I punched Namjoon," Jooheon says, or tries to say, anyway, with Jackson stopping his mouth again and again and again. "He just, you were—"

"He'll live," says Jackson. "I really like you too."

"Don't sleep on the couch anymore," says Jooheon.

"Stop drinking milk out of the carton and then putting it back," says Jackson.

"Okay," says Jooheon.

"Okay," says Jackson.

Kissing in the rain isn't actually very romantic, but they manage.

 

 

"I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this," Seokjin is saying, dabbing antiseptic on his husband's split lip.

"That makes one of us," Nayeon chirps happily from where she sits on a nearby pinterest-worthy hay bale.

"Two of us," Namjoon says, but Seokjin baps him on the shoulder to get him to hold still. "Stop! I've been abused enough!"

Yoonji just laughs at him, folding Nayeon's narrow shoulders in her long, slender arms.


End file.
